How Bizarre
by hachoo
Summary: A hunt goes a bit wrong when Dean gets thrown into a tombstone and begins to suffer for it. Oneshot, please review!


A/N- well, I'm getting better at writing longer stories, yay! Another totally random one shot with hurt/confused Dean, because who doesn't love a hurt Dean? This was inspired by all the scenes where we see Dean getting thrown into a tombstone, but is somehow perfectly fine afterwards. I thought I'd be mean and make him suffer. Please please PLEASE review! How Bizarre

Sam skimmed through the article he was reading about the death of the spirit they were hunting, a one Melanie Gord, to see whether her place of burial was listed. Ever since her tragic death 15 years previously, two men would always be found dead at the site of her death- an old tree where her body was hung- on the day of her death; November 27th. The two brothers had noticed the pattern and drove up to check it out. Needless to say, they were 99.99% sure it was her; the deaths all followed the same pattern, and her own death was a violent one.

"Sam, you found it yet?" Dean asked from the bed where he was lounging, reading through their fathers journal.

"Errr… yep, here it is. Green-valley cemetery. It's only about a 30 minutes drive, max."

"Sweet. Lets go."

The two packed their duffle bags with the necessary equipment; shovel, salt, fuel, lighter, and torches, and headed out the door.

The drive to the cemetery was quiet. Both boys were tired after their last hunt, and hadn't been able to rest much. Sam's right ankle still twinged ominously after his fall, although he mysteriously forgot to mention it to Dean. Nevertheless, he was quite sure Dean knew; his brother could tell if Sam was getting sick a week before Sam himself knew. They eventually pulled up to the cemetery. It was a cold night, and the air around them was stinging their faces.

"Let's get this over with, it's freezing," Dean mumbled, hauling the bag out and heading towards the graves, flashlight shining to light up the path. Sam followed with the shovel. They both scanned the headstones of the graves till Sam spotted the one saying 'Melanie Gord, beloved daughter, sister friend. She will be missed.'

"Dean, over here," he said in a low voice. Dean trundled over with his torch, shining the light on the gravestone. A small picture of Melanie could be seen.

"She was pretty," Dean observed as he put down the duffle bag.

"Dude, you're checking out a dead girl." Sam said, looking at Dean oddly. Dean looked back at Sam.

"Hey, I said was, not is." Sam shook his head before lowering the shovel into the ground, and began to dig.

About 45 minutes later, the coffin was uncovered. Sam, who had been taking a break, jumped down into the grave with Dean to help lift up the lid. As they did, the smell of a decayed body reached their noses. No matter how many bodies they uncovered, neither would ever get used to the smell. Sam's nose twitched as he struggled to take smaller breaths, and Dean's hand shot up to block the smell. They both stared at the remnants inside until Dean clambered out to get the equipment. He chucked down the lighter, fuel and salt, and was about to climb back down when he felt the presence of something behind him. Dean slowly turned around and was met with the sight of Melanie's spirit.

"Sam!" Dean yelled quickly. "She's here, burn the body already!" Before he could say or do anything else, the spirit raised a hand and Dean was sent flying into a nearby tombstone. He hit his head hard on the edge, and dropped to the floor moaning, hand pressed against his forehead. The spirit suddenly appeared in front of him, her hand rose again, this time forcing him to sit up against the tombstone. His head gave a loud thump as he hit the hard surface. The spirit moved closer until she was standing over him.

She was extremely pale, and her dark hair was loose, blowing in a non-existent wind. Her lips were curled back into a snarl as she glared at him, and he could see the blood mark on her dress where her stomach had been attacked with a knife. She slowly raised her hand towards his forehead, and was only millimetres away when she let out a low cry. Startled, Dean could only watch as she burst into flames, and with a loud scream, vanished. In the distance he could see Sam's worried face rushing to him, but before Sam could reach him, Dean gave into the pain in his head and fell unconscious.

"Dean!" yelled Sam as he saw Dean collapse. He could only hope it was the result of Dean hitting his head, and not anything else the spirit had done to him before Sam could completely salt and burn the body. He ran to Dean and knelt beside him.

"Hey, Dean? Dean, you with me? Dean?!" Sam began to pat Dean's face lightly, but to no avail. Dean remained unconscious. San swallowed, his mind racing. _Ok, don't panic, just breathe, and then check for injuries_, he thought. He gently began to feel around Dean's face, looking for any cuts. He located one on Dean's temple, presumably from being thrown into the tombstone, and then another one at the back of Dean's head when it had been smacked against the tombstone the second time.

"Crap Dean, these are going to need stitches," Sam said as he quickly checked for any other injuries. There was nothing else serious as far as he could tell, but he couldn't be positive until they reached the motel.

Sam quickly decided to put his jacket on Dean's head to stop the bleeding, and then carry him to the impala. As he shrugged out of his jacket, he once again realised just how cold it was; the temperature had to be below freezing. He pressed the jacket against Dean's head before hauling his brother up and into his arms. Dean would have protested, had he been awake, at being carried like this- Sam had one arm beneath Dean's knees and the other against his back, with Dean's head resting against Sam's chest. Sam staggered under the weight- Dean wasn't fat, but he was muscular, and although Sam was a good 3 inches taller, he still had trouble carrying a deadweight Dean- and the two slowly headed towards the impala.

Once Sam had loaded Dean and all their gear into the car, he drove off to their room, keeping a close eye on Dean, who still hadn't woken. About 15 minutes into the drive, Dean began to stir.

"Dean?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Oh god… my head…" Dean began to mumble, his hand rising to feel his head and coming into contact with Sam's jacket. "What the-" he started, eyes shooting open.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah Dean, right here. You whacked your head pretty good, I'm going to have to stitch it up when we get back to the motel." Dean made some nonsensical noise.

"You alright, Dean?"

"My head… feels like I fell of a building. And landed somewhere… hard…" Dean's voice began to trail off, and his eyelids began to flicker

"Hey, hey, Dean, you have to stay awake for me, okay?"

"I'm tired Sammy… my head's pounding…"

"I know, but you have to stay awake; you might have a concussion."

"Nooo… no questions…"

"Dean, I have to ask them. Come on, it'll be easier if you just tell me the answers."

"Dean Winchester, January 24th 1979, Chevy Impala '67, umm… I can't remember the next question…"

"Details of our current hunt?"

"Oh yeah, um… some chick died… because of something…" Dean was beginning to fade again, his voice becoming softer and more uncertain.

"Okay, you definitely have a concussion. Just try and stay awake Dean."

"Mmhmm…"

Sam accelerated, more determined to get back to the motel.

As he pulled up into their parking space, he noticed Dean's head was beginning to loll.

"Dean. Dean, wake up. No falling asleep yet."

"S'mmy… go 'way… 5 more minutes…" Dean mumbled, weakly pushing Sam's offending hand away. Sam merely hauled Dean out of the car, and half supporting him, the two made their way to their room. Sam unlocked the door and pushed Dean towards his bed, closing the door behind him. Dean seemed inclined to sleep, but Sam refused.

"Dean, no. I have to stitch you up and check if you have any other injuries."

"'M fine Sam."

"Fine? You don't even remember what we were hunting!"

"Do too."

"What was it?"

"… screw you."

Sam grabbed their first aid kit from the bathroom and began stitching up Dean's cut on his temple, and then the one on the back of his head. As he worked, Dean began to be affected by his head injuries.

"Hmmm hmmm… hmm hmm hmmm…"

"Dean, stop swaying or the stitches are going to go wonky."

"But it's such a sad song, Sammy… you _have_ to sway," Dean told Sam, eyes wide.

"…Dude, are you humming Celine Dion?"

"…love can touch us one time…"

"You are so delirious."

"…last for a life time…"

Sam stitched faster.

Once he was finished, he checked Dean for any other injuries. There was quite a lot of blood from his head wounds, and he was afraid Dean might begin to feel faint. As if he could read Sam's mind, Dean began to sway again, but this time he didn't look so happy.

"Sammy, I don't feel good." With that, he proceeded to topple off the bed.

"Hey, whoa!" Sam somehow managed to catch Dean before he hit his head again. Dean blinked blearily at Sam.

"Hey, what are you doing on the floor?"

"I just caught you before you fell."

"Well, get your paws off me…"

Sam struggled to get Dean back onto the bed.

"Okay Dean, I'm going to give you some pills to stop the headaches, and then you can sleep, ok?"

"Sure."

"But I'll have to wake you up every so often to check on you. Got it?"

"Yep."

Looking at Dean, Sam had to smile. Dean was lying in bed, all tucked up, lying on his side so as not to disturb his head injuries. He gazed sleepily at Sam.

"G'night Sam."

"Good night Dean."

A few hours later, Sam was researching new cases on the net when a sudden movement caught his eye. He looked up to see Dean sitting up, looking pale.

"Dean, what is it?"

"Sammy…. don't feel too good…"

With that, Dean bolted to the bathroom. Sam followed, cringing at the retching noises Dean was making. He knew from experience that vomiting with a concussion was _not_ fun. He knelt beside Dean, who was hovering over the toilet, and rubbed his back gently.

"You okay Dean?" he asked quietly once the heaving had stopped. Dean slumped against the bathtub, his face pale and sweaty.

"Well that was friggin' delightful… my head still feels like it's going to explode."

Sam eyed Dean wearily.

"You're not going to sing Celine Dion again, are you?" Dean looked at him strangely.

"What are you rambling on about?"

"Nothing, nothing… come on, lets get you back into bed."

"Aww Sammy, sorry, but I'm not in the mood."

"Shut up."

The next morning, Sam woke up to find himself sprawled uncomfortably across his bed. He had evidently fallen asleep sitting upright, and somehow managed to lie down in his sleep. Wiping away any stray dribble, he looked over at Dean's bed, where Dean lay, still asleep. Checking his watch, Sam decided it was time for another check up.

"Dean. Hey Dean."

"Shut up Sam…"

"Come on, I have to check that you don't have a concussion anymore."

With a groan, Dean sat up, blinking away the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm fine, Sam."

"What were we doing last night?"

"Digging up a stupid grave when that spirit came and chucked me into the tombstone… that son of a-"

"Okaaay, looks like your concussion is gone."

"I told you, but do you listen to me? Noooo…"

"You hungry?"

"Starving. Tossing up all the contents of my stomach has made me feel empty inside."

Sam cringed.

"Nice imagery, Dean."

Later, once they had finished breakfast and packed all their belongings, the two brothers began loading everything into the impala.

"Hey Sam?" Dean called from the trunk.

"Yeah?" Sam replied from the door of their room, which he was currently locking.

Dean strolled up to him, casually shrugging on his leather jacket.

"Next time we do a salt and burn; you be the one who gets chucked into the tombstone, okay?"

Sam merely laughed and walked over to the front desk to return the keys, leaving Dean to wonder how a tape of Celine Dion had found its way into his pocket.


End file.
